


Home as a Romanticized Concept

by conceptofzero



Category: BioShock
Genre: Gore, Horror, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2395100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack takes care of the farm while his parents are away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home as a Romanticized Concept

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains elements of horror that may disturb some and are not warned for in tags. Reader discretion is advised.

The rising sun wakes Jack, as it always does. The light comes pouring in through his bedroom window and he lies there in it, soaking it up and not opening his eyes, even as the darkness gives way to the soft pink and red bloom of his closed eyelids. Chores need to be done and he needs to get moving, but it’s so warm and he’s so lazy.

Eventually, he forces himself to get up. His parents are counting on him to look after things while they’re gone. Jack’s not the kind of man to let them down. Anyway, this place is going to be his one day. Might as well treat it right while he waits for that day to come. 

He dresses and notes that he’s getting low on clean clothes again. Jack adds that to the list he keeps in his mind of things that need to be done today; feed the animals, clean out the hen house, tidy the house and dust it down, make dinners for the next week, and do laundry. It’ll keep him busy, but not too busy that he can’t read or work on the gift for his mother’s birthday (coming up soon, another month out but time’s ticking down quick). 

But before all that, he’s got to feed himself first. Jack heads downstairs, stomach growling in anticipation. 

-

There’s mail waiting for him in the box at the end of the road when Jack strolls out around nine. Two bills, a parcel and a postcard from his parents. Jack leans on the fence and smiles as he reads it. They’re staying in Spain a little longer and they’ve sent him a souvenir. Mom says she’s gotten tan and that dad’s gained weight and that they both send their love to him. They’ll be home sometime.

He opens the parcel. It’s aftershave and Jack opens the cap, giving it a smell. It’s nice, and it smells like he thinks the sea probably ought to. The day is warm and dry, and the road is dusty, his feet kicking up little puffs as he walks across it. It’s the kind of day when you can see where someone’s driven long after they’ve gone by, big heavy dust cloud hanging in their wake. There’s no clouds aside from the small ones his feet make. Even his neighbours look like they’re not home today. Then again, Jack can’t quite remember the last time he saw them… 

The aftershave smells so good. He pours a little on his palms and rubs them together briefly, then holds them apart as he looks over the field. Nothing’s growing yet, but he’s hopeful there will be a big rain sometime this week and then he’ll see the wheat and corn start to poke their heads up. Jack strokes his hands down his face and neck, and he’s engulfed by the salty smell. If he closes his eyes, he can believe he’s standing at the seashore, feeling waves lapping against his feet. 

It’s just imagination though - he’s never been anywhere that wasn’t Kansas. Maybe one day he’ll leave, when his parents get back. He’s always wanted to see the seaside, or the mountains, or those big lakes up north. Jack’s got a big list of places to go, and he’ll get to them one day and send his own postcards home. 

He wanders back up to the house and gets started on laundry, leaving his aftershave in the bathroom. It’s a bit of a shame to use it when he’s all by himself. Maybe he’ll make a trip into town later, get some supplies and talk to somebody. Maybe. 

-

The radio says rain’s coming in a few days. The sky outside is empty of any clouds, just a wide vast blue that stretches on forever. It starts into the news and Jack snaps it off, not wanting to hear anymore about New York or Washington. 

Instead, he puts a record on and lets the music fill the house as he gets started on dusting. There’s always a thin layer of the stuff no matter how often he wipes things down. Sometimes, he leaves messages for himself in. 

“Snowed again, March 2,” says one on top of the china cabinet and he wipes it away. He never misses the snow, not even in the heat of summer. Jack would rather go down to the root cellar and sit there in the dark than watch snow swallow the house and barn. The animals all hate being kept in the barn during those cold deep days and it smells rank in there after a while. The cellar smells like dirt and so long as he keeps it aired out, it doesn’t go rotten and he can stay there for hours. 

He cleans his parents bedroom, wiping up the dust that’s collected while they’ve been gone. The bed remains made and their picture sits on the bedside table, mom and dad smiling at the camera for Jack. Her quilt’s gotten a little dusty and he’ll need to wash it for her. 

There’s a message waiting for him on the ceiling fan’s blades, and that gives Jack pause. It says “Rainbow, April 28.” But that’s not right, because it’s only April 15th right now. Jack shakes his head a little. He must have gotten confused when writing that one down. Jack wipes it away and leaves himself a message on the last blade, drawing in the dust. “Cleaned April 15”. 

He would leave a note about the aftershave but there’s not enough room. Ah well, he’ll remember it then. Jack wipes his hands clean as he climbs down, tossing the rag into the laundry pile with the rest and getting a new one. 

-

The day’s half done when he hears the rumble of a familiar vehicle coming up the drive. Jack’s working on the chair, carving little flowers into the back, and he manages to finish the flower he’s working on before he puts down his tools and heads to the door. 

The black Cadillac looks a little dusty after the drive and Jack hurries down the porch and by the clothesline, the wet laundry flapping lightly in the breeze. 

“Hey! I thought-” Jack stops when he hears the sound of his voice, hoarse and rough. He flushes a little, coughing to clear it, and hoping he doesn’t sound too odd when he picks it up again, “-thought you were in New York until the end of the month.”

Frank’s got sunglasses on and he pulls them off, dumping them on the driver’s seat before slamming the door. “I got tired of waiting and lit a fire under their asses to get negotiations done, so here I am. C’mere kid, let me get a look at you.” 

Jack stops in front of him, feeling a little self-conscious. He’s wearing chore clothes which means the blue jeans with the knee worn away and stains, and a plain white shirt with a wobbly collar and strings hanging off the bottom. Frank’s in a suit, just like always, and his suit doesn’t even look crinkled after driving who knows how long from the nearest airport. But Frank puts a hand out anyway and Jack eagerly shakes it. “Sorry about all this, I didn’t know you were coming.”

“It’s a surprise, figured I’d drop in on my way to the west coast. I need a day where I don’t have motherfuckers breathing down my neck.” Frank’s rough at the edges, crude even, but honest. Jack likes that. He always likes Frank’s visits. “There’s a lamb in the trunk. Go put it someplace cool.” 

“Oh sure,” Jack holds out his hand and Frank tosses the keys to Jack. He catches them easily, wandering around to the trunk to unlock it. There’s a cage and a plaintive bleating from the lamb inside. The trunk’s hot as hell and just standing there makes his head hurt. Before it can settle in, Jack gets his arms around the cage and pulls it out. It’s heavy but it’s not so bad. As he gets it settled at his side, he looks over to Frank. “You want to help prepare it later?”

“Might as well. It’s good to know who’s been handling your meat.” He grins at his own joke, like he usually does. Frank slides his jacket off, starting on his cufflinks next. “I’ll borrow some of your old clothes.” 

“Sure, I’ll be right back.” Jack heads for the barn, his head already feeling a little less throbby as he gets moving. He’ll put down a little water for the lamb. No point in being cruel to it after such a long car ride. 

-

While Frank dresses, Jack tidies up the dining room. It’s not a mess, but there’s just clutter here and there. Postcards and gifts go into boxes, and he’s wiping down the table when he hears the floorboards upstairs creaking closer.

Frank comes down the stairs, dressed in jeans and a button up with thick suspenders holding up his pants. He always look strange outside of a suit. Jack’s not sure he’ll ever get used to him outside of one, but he looks fine. It’s handy that he and Jack are nearly the same size. “Looks like the bachelor life is suiting you. So, when are your parents coming back? Next week?”

“They’re staying in Spain a little longer, and mom says they might just do the rest of Europe while they’re there. Dad’s enjoying his retirement. It’s nice for him, knowing that he doesn’t have to rush back. I’ll still be here.” One day, he’ll get a chance to do the same. Jack can be patient about that sort of thing. “Anyway, with them gone all the time, it’s almost like having my own place.” 

“Ain’t nothing wrong with something that’s all yours.” Frank takes a seat at the table, letting out a sigh as he stretches his legs out. “But c’mon, you’ve got to get lonely all by yourself, kid.”

Jack shrugs. Maybe sometimes. The silence can be a bit much sometimes, but he usually forgets how much he likes being around people until he’s got Frank here. “I like being alone. And I’ve always got you.” 

Frank laughs and grins. “Yeah, you do. Get me something to drink, you know what I like.” 

There’s beers in the fridge and he gets them each one, popping the tops in the kitchen. He sets Frank’s in front of him and gets settled beside him. Jack likes being within arm’s reach of Frank. He doesn’t miss people, not really, but he still likes being near Frank. “How long will you be here?”

“A few days. I’m taking a vacation between bullshit, and there’s nowhere as private as your farm.” He takes a pull from the bottle and then nods to the empty table. “Where’s the paper?” 

“I cancelled it.” He didn’t like what he was reading in it. Seems like the whole east coast is a mess these days. All sorts of new drug addicts and violence and kidnappings. Jack didn’t need to read that stuff, not when it just put a grey cloud over everything. If something was really important, he’d hear it from a neighbour or from Frank. “I figured I could spend my money other places.” 

Frank just shakes his head, but he does it with a smile. “Should have known. You never did like bad news.”

“I can stand it, just not all the time.” And that’s all the news was these days. Jack had enough stuff to deal with on the farm without adding to his burden. “Anyway, if something was real important, you’d tell me.” 

Frank grins and takes another pull from his bottle. Jack drinks his beer and enjoys Frank’s quiet company. A few days with him would be nice. Might help the house feel lived in again. 

-

He shows Frank around the farm. He's been here plenty of times, but its always good to show him what's changed. Jack painted the shed and house, and he fixed the swing on the back porch, and restrung the top line on the barbed wire fence and the list goes on and on. Jack hadn't realized how busy he's been until he's going over the list and keeps finding something new since Frank was here.

“You sure this isn’t too much?” He checks in with Frank as they hit their second barbed-wire fence. They’ve got a good rhythm going by now, Jack’s foot pressing down on the middle string between two barbs and his hand grabbing the top string, pulling it up high enough that it won’t snag on Frank.

“You want me to sit on my ass more? I already spent most of the day on it.” He moves smoothly through the wires, straightening up on the other side and returning the favour for Jack. He’s careful when he crawls through, kicking his leg up at the end to make sure he doesn’t snag his jeans at the very end. Nothing worse than stumbling and falling, especially in front of Frank. “I need a walk. Why, you getting tired?” 

Jack just grins. He probably works more in a day than Frank does in a week. Jack’s got a farmer’s tan and Frank’s pale, like he never sees the sun. If he’s not careful, he’ll leave with a burn, like he did last time. “Just making sure I don’t have to drag you back to the house if you pass out.”

“If I fall, just leave me there and kick some dirt over me ‘cause the only way I’m lying down is if I’m dead.” He scoffs at Jack but he knows Frank doesn’t really mean it. He and Jack cross the field, making their way through scrubby grass and around gopher holes. It’s green in the pastures at least, even if the fields are still starting.

They reach the far field and Jack’s showing Frank where he cleared a stand of trees when a stray thought runs through his mind - Frank's been here and gone and come back before his parents. But that can't be right because it's been months since Frank was here-

Jack makes a pained sound as he feels his head spinning. He staggers a little, reaching for trees that aren't there anymore. The only reason he doesn't fall is because Frank's there to grab him and straighten him out. "The hell, Jack?"

"I just got dizzy." His head aches. What was he thinking about? He can't focus through the pain. Jack turns toward Frank and rests his weight against him, and it’s funny how just being near Frank helps straighten his head back out. “Just uh- just a headache.” 

“And you were giving me shit about needing to tap out.” He gets his arm firmly around Jack’s waist, his fingers pressing against the bare skin between his jeans and shirt. Frank’s fingers feel so good. Jack hangs his head and tries not to go too red. The headache is winding down already and all he can think about is Frank. “Let’s get back, you can make some of that pink lemonade or something and we’ll get started on dinner.” 

“Yeah, yeah, good idea,” Jack agrees. Funny, he can’t remember why they were even out in the far field. It doesn't matter though, not when he’s too busy thinking about Frank’s touch. 

-

It’s late afternoon. Sun comes in through the window, a big shaft of light that the dust motes dance in. Jack sits on a hay bale and turns a knife over in his hands, waiting on Frank to finish looking around the barn. There’s a scraping sound as he finally finds where they put the bucket last time, dumping it beside Jack. 

“Ready?” He asks, and when he gets the nod, Jack gets the box open. The lamb scrambles to the back, bleating like mad. He gets a hand around it’s leg and pulls it out, holding it upside down as he gets the chain ready and around the lamb’s ankle. Frank watches like he always does. He likes watching Jack butcher his meat, he’s said as much. Jack doesn’t mind. 

Frank sits where Jack was, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. He’s got such bright blue eyes. Sometimes, Jack dreams about them. Frank just smiles today, and his smiles are always a little sly. “Watch out, she’s a biter.” 

She is. Jack feels her teeth sink into his hand. But it’s no problem. He shakes his hand free and gets the lamb by the scruff of its neck, holding her tight. She makes a racket, screaming and struggling. Jack doesn’t like making them suffer, so he’s quick about the next part. 

He takes the knife and slices the lamb’s throat, his foot nudging the bucket ahead so it catches the torrent that comes spilling out. Blood drums on the steel like rain drums on the tin roof when it storms. He gets a little on his shirt and face, and he looks at the lamb and the blood running down her pale face and through her wool. 

When the worst of the blood stops, Jack starts butchering. He’s gotten good at it. The first few times, Frank had to walk him through it. Now he knows exactly where to cut to pull flesh and the joints where the bone can safely be parted. He moves quickly, slicing up the stained wool and parting the lamb’s stomach with one smooth motion. 

Jack works and Frank watches. He’s learned not to let it affect him. Still, he feels self-conscious as he guts the lamb, pulling out the organs. The good ones go to the side to be dealt with later - liver, heart, stomach - while the rest end up in the bucket with the blood. The knife flashes in the sunbeam and Jack loses himself in the gentle, mindless work (though he never forgets that Frank’s watching). 

He’s aware of the moment Frank stands, though he doesn’t look away from the lamb. There’s not much left to it now, just legs and hips where the bone sticks through now that Jack’s carved off the good cuts. He does hesitate when he feels Frank’s hand rest on the small of his back, his breath coming to a short stop before it starts again. 

“Keep going,” Frank says, and Jack does, working the knife along the edge of the bone as he pulls flesh free of it. The hand on him is warm as the sunlight, though heavier than any of that. He tries to remember the last time somebody touched him there, and he can’t. 

He tries to work as best he can, but when the fingers on his back start stroking through Jack’s t-shirt, his hand stills and Jack looks at Frank. There’s blood halfway up his elbows and his fists are scarlet. He couldn’t touch him back or push him away, and Jack’s not sure which he would want to do. “Frank-” 

“I’ll take this up to the house,” he says and lets go of Jack, picking up the platter with the cuts on it. Jack tries not to let it show how much he wants the hand back. He’s not sure how well he does, not when Frank just grins at him. “There’s a little blood on your nose.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Jack watches him go and shakes the image of Frank’s back out of his mind. He loosens the chains and brings down what’s left of the lamb. He wraps it up and takes it, along with the bucket, out to the field and to the carrion pile. The birds are already gathered there and soon as he slops the blood over the bones, they fall on the lamb to pick its bones clean. 

He feels another headache coming on as he watches them and Jack turns away. It’s the smell of it that gets him. Too much blood and other things. He heads back to the barn to wash up and rinse the worst off of him. The water’s cold and when he looks into the water trough, he sees a streak of red on his forehead, like a scratch. Funny, he doesn’t remember getting that one. He should have watched where the lamb was kicking her hooves. 

It washes clean like the rest. 

-

Frank cooks and this time it’s Jack turn to watch. He’s still in the clothes he chose, though Jack’s put on something a little nicer for dinner, jeans without rips in the knees and a shirt that’s fresh out of the package. Maybe it’s a little tight, but it’s fine for supper. 

Jack wouldn’t have guessed that somebody like Frank would be a good cook, but he is. Before long, the house smells wonderful, the sweet aroma filling every room. Jack helps a little but mostly he sits in the corner and tries to pick up a little from Frank. Mostly he stares at his hands, watching those rough, deft fingers as they work, rolling lamb in rubs and getting it ready to freeze. “Somebody’s got to make sure you eat something good when I’m not here.” 

It’s good because Jack just finished up the last of the meat from Frank’s last gift to Jack (a suckling pig, it had been so sweet and tender, a treat he only had every Sunday while he listened to the music on the radio). The freezer downstairs slowly fills with meat and labels telling Jack how to cook each thing, all while tonight’s meal roasts in the oven. 

When it’s time, Jack takes his seat across from Frank, forgoing sitting at the end of the table so they can be close. Frank brings it out in a silver platter and Jack laughs as he sets it in front of him. “I could get used to this.” 

“Get a maid,” Frank says and pulls the cover off. The lamb shank looks wonderful, the meat braised to a glorious brown, still clinging to the bone. The thick stew surrounding the shank smells delicious, but what really makes Jack’s mouth water is the cherry-red slug lying in the dish. “What do you say?” 

“Wow… you outdid yourself this time. It looks amazing.” He just takes it all in and lets the smells overwhelm him. Jack can hardly take his gaze off the slug, though he manages to tear it away for a moment. “You don’t mind me having it?”

“Knock yourself out.” Frank grabs the seat across from Jack. “I can get a slug anytime I want. Eat up.” 

He takes the tongs Frank provided and slips them under the head of the slug, carefully pulling it out of the dish. Jack doesn’t dare tug too hard, or it might rip and break, and then all the ADAM would go spilling out. He’s gotten good at eating them by now, and as the tail slides out, he carefully drops his head back and opens his mouth, sliding the tail onto his tongue. It tastes wonderful, the savoury stew and the almost electric taste of the ADAM leaking through the skin enough to make his stomach rumble. 

Frank watches as Jack slowly swallows it down, trying his best to get it down in one large mass. He has to clear his mind and open his throat as best he can, eyes looking forward but not seeing anything as he focuses entirely on getting it down. He nearly does too, very nearly, except as he slips the head in his mouth, there’s a moment when his throat tightens involuntarily and he feels the slug strain and then burst with a popping sound. Thick, warm ADAM floods his mouth and drips down his throat, and Jack swallows it all, sighing with contentment as he feels it start to flow through his body. 

“Atta boy,” Frank says and grins, all sharp teeth like a shark. Jack gives him a happy, dopey smile. He’s so glad Frank’s here. He always brings Jack the best things. Frank just gestures to the meal. “Eat up Jack, make sure to clean your plate.” 

Jack does exactly that, slicing tender meat from the bone and chewing it with gusto as his veins almost seem to sing with delight. It tastes so good, and hardly like lamb at all. He needs to get recipes from Frank. He grins, something occurring to him. “I bet you give me the slug first, so that way everything tastes amazing.” 

“You caught me!” Frank laughs, both hands spread on the table. His plate is bare and Jack should tell him to eat something, but the moment he gestures toward it, Frank just lifts an eyebrow. “What, I don’t have enough already? My plate’s full.”

Jack takes a second look and now it’s his turn to laugh because of course Frank’s plate is full. He just shakes his head and has more lamb, worried only about getting his fill. 

-

After dinner, they have beers out on the porch and watch the sun set. They don’t say much. Jack feels comfortable with the silence, thankful just to have this time with Frank. It’s sorta funny - he forgets how isolated he is until he’s got somebody else with him. 

They’re close enough that he could press his knee against Frank’s if he wanted to. He sort of does, but he sort of doesn’t too, and he stares off at the reds and oranges in the sky as they fade to black. Though Jack doesn’t like to think much about the world outside, he can’t help but worry about Frank, and he speaks about that after a while. “You should think about staying away from the city sometime. Seems like it’s dangerous.” 

“Everywhere’s dangerous, especially if I’m there.” He’s got that big smile on again, all his teeth flashing as he nudges Jack with his elbow. “You worried about me?” 

“Sometimes,” He admits, and stares down at his bottle. This isn’t how the game’s supposed to go but right now, with his stomach burning with beer and ADAM, he wants to say something real. “There’s lots of people dying in New York and Washington, and I heard the other day that L.A. was rioting over EVE shortages. I don’t want you to leave sometime and never come back. I’d be-”

All alone, he thinks but. Well, that’s silly. He’s got the neighbours, even if he hasn’t seen them all week and his parents will be coming home soon and he can always drive into town for more supplies if he needs them and there’s people there, right? Right? 

Jack shrugs. He falls back on the easy joke instead. “Who’d drink beer with me?” 

“Maybe you’d have to make a new friend. You’re getting soft, kid.” Frank sets a hand on the back of Jack’s neck and just leaves it there, his fingers stroking along the knobs on Jack’s spine. “Stop fussing. Ain’t nobody touching either of us.” 

Jack tries to hide his smile with another sip of beer, content to just feel Frank’s hand on the back of his neck. 

-

Of course, it doesn’t last. The phone rings the next morning and he lets Frank get it, knowing that it’s got to be for him. It is, and after an extended conversation over breakfast, Frank heads back upstairs and starts packing his stuff. “Negotiations fell apart, they need me again.” 

Jack tries not to be disappointed. He’s got chores to do and he heads out to the barn to get them done. Frank will come get him when he’s ready to go. Until then, Jack just keeps busy, cutting the strings off square bales and putting down fresh straw for the animals.

He’s barely paying attention to what he’s doing, letting his body go into autopilot, and when he snags a scrap of fabric off the floor, he’s halfway to the burning barrel before he realizes that there’s something wrong with it. Jack stops mid-step, his foot coming down hard as if walking down a flight of steps and counting wrong on the last step. 

There’s a kitten embroidered on the fabric. It’s mostly just thick stitches in a somewhat crude shape, exactly the kind of thing you see on mass produced children’s clothes. The bright gingham is dirty, stained with dirt and something black and sour. He sniffs it and pulls his head back when he realizes that’s blood. 

It looks like a part of a girl’s dress, like it was cut up with a knife and discarded. Jack stands in the barn, clutching the bloody scrap of gingham and staring at it. What’s it doing here? How did it end up in the barn? 

The chains hang from the ceiling and though the floor’s been washed clean by him, he can smell the blood and still hear the way the lamb screamed when he put the knife to its throat and pulled, opening the skin up-

“What you got there?” Frank asks and Jack startles, turning around. The suit’s back on and for a moment, Jack feels a wave of déjà vu sweep over him but-

(“- _you want to stay down here with mother goose and those things? I can take you Topside kid, I can take you home and help you forget_ -”)

Jack feels a stabbing pain in his head and his fingers clench tight around the fabric. Frank’s there in half a second, one hand on Jack’s cheek and the other tugging the cloth out of his hand. Jack just melts into Frank’s touch, groaning as the pain washes away and is replaced. 

“Can’t leave you alone for a second, can I? Hey, c’mon, what’s got you wrapped up? A dirty old rag?” He waves it at Jack and it’s funny, what was he even thinking? What got him so upset? A rag? It’s just a part of a shirt that Jack cut up. 

“I thought-” He gasps out, feeling a weird thrill run through him as Frank’s hand sinks down to his throat, caressing him there, “I thought it was. A dress.” 

“You’re losing your mind. Forget about it,” Frank tells him, and his fingers dig into Jack’s throat and all Jack can do is let his eyes flutter back at Frank’s touch. “You gotta stop getting worked up over nothing.” 

Jack nods. He really does. He doesn’t want to disappoint Frank. 

When Frank lets go of him, he hands Jack the dirty rag. Jack puts it in the burning barrel and starts a fire, making sure to get it deep in the flames. 

-

He watches Franks’ car leave, waving the first little bit and then just standing out on the porch as he drives off, watching the car kick up big plumes of dust. Frank will be back in another few months, once things are settled. They’re going to have veal then, or that’s what Frank said. He had put his hands on Jack and even now, he feels Frank’s touch burning through his jacket. 

Jack watches him go. It’s fine. His parents will be home soon. Frank will be back. Jack’s got his records and the radio and he’s got a freezer full of lamb and supplies. 

He looks for the lights that should be in his neighbour’s house but they’re still dark. Maybe he should go over there and see if they’re okay. 

Jack doesn’t move an inch, standing out on his porch and slowly forgetting all the things that don’t really matter.


End file.
